


Love Among the Dead

by moistdrippings



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode AU: s03e02 Primavera, Fucking in Catacombs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reconciliation Sex, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moistdrippings/pseuds/moistdrippings
Summary: Will doesn't leave it at "I forgive you," and Hannibal doesn't leave.





	Love Among the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pizzasnood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzasnood/gifts).



> This has been over a year in the making for my good friend Tats... I'm sorry this took so long. <3
> 
> Thank you to all those who read over this for me to help me iron it out, particularly Wil, Hams, and Pixie. You helped keep this readable.

The catacombs breathed around him. Will had expected the stillness of death that Hannibal had left in his wake in Baltimore, in the shells of his office and his home, but instead he felt the life that Hannibal had poured into him from the moment they had met. It was beyond the dancing of the candlelight, the distant echo of Pazzi’s footsteps as Will left him behind; the stone had such color to it, a warmth it could not really have, a beauty it hadn’t quite earned except in age. The air held the taste of something sweet and bitter. He knew Hannibal was there, somewhere.

Still, Will had no real idea where he was going. He was guided only by his desperation to see Hannibal again, though he knew that if Hannibal did not want to be seen, he wouldn’t be. He was probably intimately familiar with the darkness and shadows there, and almost certainly knew every way out there was. He could approach from behind and gut Will again, then leave him to die alone.

But he wouldn’t.

Will pressed on, feeling Hannibal’s presence like it was tied to his heart. He couldn’t hear Pazzi anymore, and hoped he had gone back to the chapel, but his concern about it decayed with each step he took. Pazzi didn’t matter; the _polizia_ didn’t matter. Nothing mattered beyond the catacombs unless he could manage some contact with Hannibal, see some verifiable sign of his presence.

He stopped. A chase, he realized, was futile. Hannibal would always be two steps ahead, no matter how fast he ran. He could leave a message, though.

"Hannibal," he called, and in an instant the life that flowed through the veins of the catacombs seemed to freeze, as though the dust itself was holding its breath. He knew Hannibal was listening. "I forgive you."

He almost left it there, allowing the dust to suffocate itself, but his heart caught in his throat, pulled hard from his ribs. Hannibal would leave; he nearly choked on the realization.

Some sensible part of him said to turn back, to let Hannibal digest his words and feel them fully when they were in his blood; instead he added, almost too quickly, "And I’m sorry."

The stillness lingered a moment more, and then it dissipated like a sigh. Will waited, hoping futilely for some response. Beyond the whisper of the flames, he heard only silence–

And then, behind him, a sound of surprise, cut off abruptly: Pazzi.

Will counted his own heartbeats as he waited for something more. He turned his head in the direction the noise had come from, straining to hear. Nothing. Not even the scrape of a boot over stone, a whisper of air through flame.

He swallowed, held his own breath. His heartbeat grew more intense, until the darkness itself was palpating around him, deep, thrumming beats of anticipation. A line of sweat beaded at his brow and on his lip.

He did not hear or feel Hannibal before he saw him. He seemed like a ghost, and for a moment Will thought he might be, just like Abigail.

But he wore a leather jacket. Will was certain his _imago_ of Hannibal wouldn’t wear a leather jacket – unless he had reason to create a new one, after this meeting. He hoped he wouldn’t.

They stood in silence for a moment as Will’s heart swelled and soothed itself with relief. Pazzi was dead— the _polizia_ would be coming— but all that he could think, with Hannibal hardly more than an arm’s length away, was _yes_ and _finally_.

"I saw your Valentine," Will said, when he could breathe again. "Who was he?"

Hannibal tilted his head slightly at that, his eyes stroking Will’s face like a caress. "No one who matters."

"No, he wouldn’t be," Will agreed. He felt a thousand more words fighting for space in his throat, but what came out was: "Did he remind you of me?"

Hannibal stepped closer then, predatory and cautious at once. "You came here to apologize."

"I came here to find you."

"And so you have."

Something like a laugh broke out of Will’s throat. "I think you found me."

"I didn’t have to find you. I never lost you."

Will’s gut clenched at that, and he fought the urge to touch the scar on his stomach through his shirt. It had been one thing to know – to hope – that Hannibal had let him live on purpose. To hear him admit it, as much as he ever would, was another matter entirely.

Hannibal watched him, and seemed aware of his restraint, somehow. Still, he didn’t cross the space between them.

Will swallowed against the dryness in his throat, trying to rein himself in. He felt like an archer's bow, nocked and pulled taut, ready to fire. He didn’t know what would happen once he did. "Should we be running? I’m assuming you didn’t make any mercy for Pazzi."

"Not yet."

Finally, _finally_ , Hannibal reached out physically. He cupped Will’s cheek, just as he had months ago, and Will was proud that he only managed to flinch a little at the phantom twinge of pain he felt. Hannibal’s mouth was a serious line, his eyes deep and open with emotion, so like they had been in his kitchen.

"You could have run with me," Hannibal said, and Will wondered how he ever could have thought Hannibal was anything but an open book. His expression was one of restrained grief, so pure it ought to have been the model of a painting of _la Pietà_. Will could feel it side by side with his own, and it seemed so massive he felt like he would break.

"I wanted to." He turned his face, just slightly, into Hannibal’s palm, pressing his cheek and the corner of his mouth into it. If time were to repeat itself, if Hannibal were to defy his expectations and gut him again, he thought he might be satisfied in that moment.

Time and Hannibal had other plans for him. Hannibal’s other hand came up to mirror its brother, and, with Will’s face cradled between his fingers, he leant forward and pressed his lips, dry and chaste, against Will’s.

The kiss lasted barely a second, but in that time Will was aware of the world around him falling away, piece by piece. The chapel beyond the catacombs cracked and shattered, the darkness outside the firelight melted away, and finally the stone around the two of them faded, leaving only Will and Hannibal, suspended in space, and the sudden, knife-like realization that the connection between them was not simply platonic.

Will was aware that Hannibal loved him – was in love with him – in the same breath that Hannibal pulled away from him. He left behind insubstantial flesh, microscopic particles of skin and saliva, but they weighed so much Will could feel the impression they left on his lips like a brand.

Hannibal’s hands hadn’t left his face. He remained close, so close Will could feel it as he inhaled sharply through his nose. He was almost too close for Will to focus on his eyes as they fell shut, his grief transforming into satisfaction. Hannibal asked, "And what do you want now?"

Will reached out with both hands, clutching at Hannibal’s jacket. He wanted everything: to keep Hannibal as his own; to tear him apart with his own hands; to show him pain like he had felt watching Abigail die; to hold onto him and never have to decide anything else. His entire being swung like a pendulum between anguished rage and jubilance.

Every inch of him ached for Hannibal.

"I think I understand you now better than I ever have." He yanked Hannibal toward him quickly, just enough to tip his body closer to his own. He heard Hannibal’s feet shuffle as he regained his balance, but kept the closeness, their chests nearly touching when their exhalations synchronized. "Did you hate it when you realized you… cared about me?"

Hannibal moved just a little closer, turned his head just so their noses touched. "Yes. I felt like I was chasing Daphne; like revealing myself to you would take you out of reach forever. I was afraid to lose you."

"How terrible."

"It was," Hannibal agreed. "You were beyond my control. It made you both beautiful and fearsome, and my admiration for you was equally outside my control. You turned all of my order into dazzling chaos."

He opened his eyes, and Will could see his own reflected back in them. He felt everything that Hannibal felt, but this time it came from inside himself.

Will pulled at Hannibal again, pressing forward in the same motion. It was painful; teeth met lip met tongue, passionate and directionless. The world returned just in time to spin around them, and he felt stone against his back, one of Hannibal’s hands cupping his head to prevent it from crashing against the wall too. Hannibal kissed him like he wanted to crawl inside him, to stake a claim on his very blood and emerge from his body victorious. And he did: Will felt fire in his veins, licking at his fingertips and toes, pooling heat in his stomach and lower. He was aware of his erection only when Hannibal pressed his thigh against it, and then his arousal felt like it was consuming him.

There was still so much to say, too much for a lifetime, but Will could only bring himself to trace it all out with the tip of his tongue against Hannibal’s. He grappled with Hannibal’s jacket, wishing the leather was his own flesh, trying to pull him close enough that they might blend into one. Hannibal’s free hand sat at Will’s waist, his fingers working against Will’s clothes until he bared a sliver of skin. He rubbed there with his thumb, pressing his fingertips into Will’s hip in the subtlest encouragement until Will thrust forward against his thigh in a rolling motion that dragged his persistent arousal against firm, tense muscle.

Heat flew through Will like a tornado. He was dizzy with it, sick and exhilarated, caught up in the moment but still distantly aware of the absurdity of kissing a wanted serial killer in an Italian ossuary. It couldn’t stem the tide of his lust, and he set about pulling at Hannibal’s jacket differently, seeking fewer shields between them, even as he turned his face enough to gasp, "We should go."

"Not yet," Hannibal murmured, dragging his lips across Will’s cheek, his beard, to his jaw. He kissed there tenderly, and bit at the shell of Will’s ear, making him shiver down to his bones.

"I need to…" Will began, thinking _I need to have you alone_ , thinking _I need to have this uninterrupted_ , thinking _I need to clear my head_. Instead he moaned, thready and involuntary, and Hannibal used his grip in his hair to turn him back into his kiss, eating at his mouth with renewed vigor.

With Will’s lips again captive, Hannibal released him from his hands, helping Will remove his jacket. It fell to the stone at their feet with a loud, dull _thump_ that made Will’s heart pump harder. Will’s fingers dug into Hannibal’s sides then, crawling around to the small of his back to press him closer, closer, until Will could feel the evidence of Hannibal’s own arousal against his hip.

Hannibal made a noise into his mouth, something low and pleased and predatory. He put his hands back on Will, pushing him harder into the stone at his back, and rolled his hips into him, hard. The motion rubbed his thigh more insistently against Will’s cock, and Will moved against him in turn. He felt helpless, drowning in Hannibal.

After a time, Hannibal slowed his hips, pulling back from the kiss. Will choked back the desperate whine that wanted to burst from his throat and swallowed thickly. "Hannibal?"

Wordlessly, Hannibal dropped to his knees. He maintained eye contact as he did, pouring his devotion, his passion, his power into Will’s being. Though his position was that of the servile and worshipful, he looked to Will like a god.

Will couldn’t help the way his breath hitched as Hannibal began unfastening his pants, nor the way his hips twitched forward, seeking and eager. He huffed, winded, when Hannibal’s fingertips first brushed through his pubic hair, his cock jerking hard where it was still contained in his clothes.

Hannibal looked down only in the moment he bared him, delight glinting in his eyes at the way Will’s erection rose to meet his mouth. He held it gently with one hand, brushing his closed lips over its head, then down over the smooth skin of the shaft until his cheekbone pressed into Will’s pelvis. He paused a moment, breathing deep, and then turned to hold Will’s cock against his other cheekbone. He rubbed his clean-shaven face against it like a giant cat, and Will had to reach down and grip his shoulder, feeling unbalanced even with the wall at his back. He struggled to keep his hips still, wanting to let Hannibal savor the moment as much as he wanted Hannibal’s mouth on him, in awe of the way Hannibal desired him.

Hannibal’s eyes fell closed as he drew his mouth back up Will’s shaft to his cockhead, his lips parted, before he finally, finally took him in. Will held his breath when he felt Hannibal’s tongue on his frenulum, wet heat engulfing him. He had to let it go, panting hard and rubbing at his own face helplessly, as Hannibal took him in achingly slow, unstopping until his nose pressed into Will’s pubic hair once more. He stopped there briefly, Will’s cock in his throat, and then hummed and swallowed around him. Will’s hips bucked futilely, minutely, held in place by Hannibal’s strong grip.

Hannibal drew back, sucking softly at first, then harder as he went. He lingered at the head of Will’s cock, tonguing at his slit, before descending on him again. His speed increased as he swallowed down more, but not too much; he seemed to consider cocksucking as much an art as cooking or murder, something not to be rushed, but to be enjoyed for its own sake as much as for the result.

Hannibal clenched his fingers against Will’s hips once, and then loosened them enough to allow Will a little movement – enough to meet Hannibal’s mouth, to press in just a little, to show how badly he wanted it. He moaned his approval around Will’s cock, and then one of his hands left its post to skim up Will’s stomach, taking his shirt with it, and dipped under. Hannibal spread his fingers wide, covering as much of Will’s scar as he could, and left his hand there, rubbing slightly, as though he was sanctifying it.

Will groaned, fighting the urge to tip his head back and close his eyes. The sight of Hannibal sucking on him like he was something particularly delicious was almost as glorious as the feeling of it; for a moment they seemed like separate, intense pleasures, and then Will brought his hand from his own face to Hannibal’s, brushing his fingers over his cheek and his closed eyelid. He felt his cock through the flesh of Hannibal’s cheek, felt his eye twitch as he sucked, and the reality of sensation and sight snapped together. Will's cock jerked between Hannibal’s lips, and Hannibal moaned, letting go of Will’s hip entirely so he could reach down to his own erection and stroke himself through his pants.

Will’s jaw went slack at that, and he let his head fall back, just a little, overwhelmed. The scrape of stone against his scalp centered him, reminding him of where he was: deep in Italian catacombs, his cock in a cannibal’s ravenous mouth, not far from a body Hannibal had put there for him.

Blood rushed to his face and groin, orgasm building just under his skin, and he hadn’t even touched Hannibal yet.

"St… stop," he pleaded, voice thready but loud enough. Hannibal opened his eyes, looking up at him with Will’s cock still filling his mouth, questioning.  Will gathered his wits, repeating, "Stop."

Hannibal released him reluctantly, though he moved barely an inch back from Will’s cock. He didn’t take his hand off of his own, but slowed its movement.

Will tried to even his breathing, but under Hannibal’s gaze, with the evidence of his arousal so obvious, he could hardly contain himself. He loosened his grip on Hannibal’s shoulder, moving his hand to Hannibal’s throat instead. "Let me touch you."

"You are touching me," Hannibal said, turning his face into Will’s palm. With half-lidded eyes, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the meat of Will’s hand, sucking and scraping his teeth over it, rapturous. Will pressed his thumb to Hannibal’s lip, which was red and swollen, and Hannibal’s mouth enveloped it, sucking as he had sucked Will’s cock.

Will let him, and sank to his knees in front of him. Hannibal’s hand fell away from his scar, pulling Will closer to him instead. Will said, "Let me see you."

Hannibal let Will’s thumb fall from his lips, watching Will’s face closely. Will watched him in turn, as much as he could, dropping both of his hands to fumble around Hannibal’s. His fingers shook just a little as he unfastened Hannibal’s pants, and Hannibal helped him push them down, over his hip bones, until he was bare to the cool air.

Will couldn’t help but stare a moment. He hadn’t thought of this, had never considered the logistics of touching Hannibal to do anything but kill him. He hadn’t even more than idly thought about having sex with another man; with Hannibal sucking his cock, it had been easy to divorce Hannibal’s sex from his concerns, but he had no point of reference for how to make it good for him. Of course, he knew what he liked himself, but applying that to another body was out of his field of experience.

He started simple, just wrapping his fingers lightly around Hannibal’s erection. It was thick and red, Hannibal’s foreskin entirely retracted, and hot against his palm. Hannibal leaned into him as he moved his hand, tentatively, studying the difference in the way the soft skin felt as compared to his own cock. It was familiar and unfamiliar, but it was Hannibal, and Will put both his hands to work, rubbing at the shaft and head in tandem, dipping down now and then to explore the weight of Hannibal’s balls.

Hannibal made a small, disbelieving noise, and Will couldn’t help but look up at him again, right into his eyes, and kiss him. His movements became sloppier, his inexperience catching up with him and Hannibal’s tongue distracting him, but Will noticed no complaints. Nevertheless, he fought to divide his energy and attention, keeping his hands in motion until he was overwhelmed with the feel of Hannibal's mouth. He grasped at Hannibal's side again, keeping just one palm on his cock. He could hardly coordinate that and respond to the kiss, but he would give no ground against Hannibal's hunger.

Hannibal rolled his hips subtly, working harmony to the song Will's hand played on him. He pressed closer more than he pulled back, and Will found himself doing the same, until his hand was almost trapped between them, his wrist at an awkward angle and his own cock making occasional, electric contact with Hannibal's.

Too devoted to Hannibal's body, Will could hardly keep track of his own. He failed to notice the path of his grasping, roaming hand until Hannibal reared up against him, grasping his wrist and hissing a fervent _yes_ into his mouth.

He had, in his desirous haze, grasped at the meat of Hannibal's ass with eager fingers, half of them on warm skin over firm muscle. Reflexively, he made to pull his hand away, but Hannibal held his wrist harder, pulling his hand back further. It left Will at in something of an odd position, struggling to balance his attention, but when he felt the dip of Hannibal's crack under his fingertips his mind screeched to a halt like a short-circuit as his groin demanded too much blood. When his thoughts cleared again, his fingers were all down the back of Hannibal's pants, digging in, and Hannibal had turned his head just enough to speak right into Will's ear.

"You want to see me," Hannibal said, his voice stable but not unaffected, "and I want to feel you."

Will closed his eyes. It was almost beyond his imagining — but it was so close, it was impossible not to picture it, to picture Hannibal under him, buried in his body, pressed against him, tasting and feeling him. The thought made his breath come harder, faster, his cock drip precome.

But they were still underground, in the catacombs, with a fresh corpse not far away. Moving now seemed impossible, like it would tear his skin away from bone to unroot himself from the moment, but he couldn't pretend it was an ideal situation.

"We don't have..." he began, and trailed off, the vocabulary of what they were doing present in his mind but unfamiliar on his tongue. "It would hurt."

"We've hurt each other worse than this," Hannibal said, turning his lips to Will's cheek. "Pain isn't a barrier for us anymore."

There was a threat there, maybe, Will thought. He wasn't afraid of it, just aware of it. "I don't want to hurt you if I can help it," he insisted anyway. "Not now."

Hannibal pulled him closer, letting go of his wrist to put a hand on his shoulder. It served to separate them slightly, letting him look into Will's eyes, and acted as a subtle threat; it would take only the smallest movement for him to wrap his fingers around Will's throat. "It would be worse to go without."

It was absurd, in its way. Hannibal had framed him for murder, had let his brain simmer in a stew of disease, had bled him out across his kitchen floor, had murdered Abigail in front of him, and there he was, nearly begging for Will to fuck him. He had never pictured Hannibal as being desperate for sex, and not because of the way he was buttoned up into his suits; it seemed almost too plebeian for his tastes to roll around with dirty knees.

It was also incredibly arousing.

Will pushed at Hannibal then, pulling off his own coat in jerky, fluttering movements. Hannibal quickly disrobed as Will shuffled around, ignoring the pinching pain in his knees as he maneuvered them until Hannibal was in front of him on his hands and knees. He pulled off Hannibal's shoes and socks while Hannibal took care of his own pants, Will leaving his own around his knees. They wound up on a makeshift bed of clothes, barely protecting the skin of Hannibal's palms, but he looked over his shoulder at Will with fire in his eyes and Will knew neither of them could stand to care anymore.

The sight of Hannibal laid out before him had Will almost painfully hard. He could scarcely have imagined himself ending up in such a position when he had set out to find Hannibal, but now that he was there he couldn't even bear to think of a different ending to his search.

The best part, of course, was knowing that once he had this — once he gave this to Hannibal — there would be no more searching. He couldn't imagine either of them letting go now.

There were still the physical logistics of the act to contend with; for all that Hannibal seemed to welcome the pain — and it occurred to Will that he might even enjoy the idea of Will hurting him, so that he could remember Will's need for him more clearly — it didn't strike Will as particularly appealing from his own end. He had nothing on hand he could use to ease the way, though, and the dry air of the catacombs was no help.

Except...

Will felt his mouth flood with saliva as an idea came to him. It wouldn't be the same as a proper lubricant, and he was sure it would still be the driest sex he had ever had, but it would be something, and he knew immediately that Hannibal would approve. He had never done it before, but that somehow didn't matter. It made it better, in a way. He didn't care if he was sloppy or inexpert anymore.

He put both hands on Hannibal's ass, spreading him open, and paused a moment to look. It wasn't entirely different from any other asshole he had seen before, on his girlfriends and elsewhere, but it sent a thrill through him to know he was seeing it on Hannibal for the first time, to uncover something new of him, even if it was relatively insignificant. Moreover, he could picture himself inside Hannibal, his cock and his tongue, right in that small, puckered ring of muscle.

Will bent forward and puffed an open-mouthed breath over Hannibal's hole, watching the way the muscle moved in response, the way Hannibal let his head drop, clearly anticipating what was to come. He could almost feel it under his own skin. It was familiar and not; he was accustomed to a certain empathetic feedback from his partners, but there was a different quality to it now with Hannibal, a deeper understanding.

He dove in with the flat of his tongue, carrying as much saliva as he could as he laved at Hannibal's hole before moving back to kiss at it, just barely prodding the muscle with the tip of his tongue as he produced more spit. He let some of it seep from his mouth as he licked, let himself be sloppy, messy, as wet as he could be. Hannibal's body rolled back into him, pressed against his face. Will thought he could hear some guttural sounds of pleasure from deep in Hannibal's throat, but he couldn't bring himself to listen for it, too focused on his task. He had to wrap a hand around his own cock as he pressed into Hannibal with the tip of his tongue, drooling into him.

He pulled back, working his tongue in his own mouth to gather more saliva, and spat it at Hannibal's hole before diving in again. Skin and dark, musky sweat spread around his mouth, and he drooled more, pushing it into Hannibal again and again with rough, pointed thrusts of his tongue. He squeezed at his cock as he licked and penetrated Hannibal, struggling to make himself wait, his arousal stirring into a maelstrom within him.

It was hardly enough, he knew, but Will stopped himself when he felt Hannibal tighten around his tongue, revved up and eager to press inside him. Hannibal's head had dropped below his shoulders, and his elbows shook. His hole was shiny with spit; Will could feel a mask of it over the lower half of his face. He spat once more, coating his palm, and stroked himself twice, rewetting his cock as best he could. When he was satisfied, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve quickly before moving closer, putting one hand on Hannibal's lower back.

Hannibal lowered himself to his elbows. With a deep, shuddering breath, he seemed to melt, just a little. Will could practically see his muscles loosen. He thought about asking if Hannibal was ready, but as he thumbed at his hole, pushing more spit into it, he decided it wouldn't benefit either of them to pretend there was any chance he would say no. He took himself in hand, his nails digging into Hannibal's back, and pressed himself to Hannibal's hole.

He paused, looking at where his cockhead rested against Hannibal's body. In another moment, he would know what it was to be inside Hannibal; it would alter something inside of him, he was sure. It was sex, but hardly _just_ sex. This was a commitment to something new, an acknowledgement that there was a bond between them they could never break. He wasn't even entirely sure what, or who, they would be after. It was a terrifying and exhilarating idea, like the anticipation of falling from a great height.

Without sparing a goodbye for his former self, he pushed.

Hannibal groaned beneath him, his head rising up as his back arched in intermingled pain and pleasure. Will stretched himself over Hannibal's back, wrapping one arm around his middle and the other over his shoulder, nearly enveloping his neck. He buried his face in Hannibal's skin, closing his eyes and letting himself feel. His fall had dropped him in water, and he felt the vast, aching pressure of an ocean against his lungs.

Will pulled back until half his cock was out of Hannibal and breathed in. It felt like the first full breath of air he'd ever taken. Renewed and energized, he thrust in, and then again, building up a haphazard rhythm as he watched for Hannibal's every response, shifting and adjusting as he sought out exactly how to make Hannibal Lecter lose himself. He could only make out a tiny sliver of his expression, but Will could hear and feel Hannibal's bliss in his every minute sound and movement. He swallowed an ecstatic grunt at every sharp slap of skin against skin; his elbows shook every time Will pulled nearly all the way out; his body swayed slightly whenever Will paused, even for a second, like he was drugged and only being fucked could keep him upright. Will played those notes on his body like he imagined Hannibal played his theremin, a sweet and cacophonous song of sweat and the burn in his thighs.

He found his favorite note when Hannibal's breath seemed cut short, his left hand abruptly leaving the ground to grasp Will's wrist at his neck as his body heaved forward. "There," Hannibal said, his voice thin and wavering, "more."

"Glutton," Will said, smiling into the wet hair at the nape of Hannibal's neck and squeezing his arm around Hannibal's neck to hear him gasp again. He sought out that precise thrust again, a slower drag out and a quick, merciless thrust in, angling down just a little. Hannibal seemed to choke on his own euphoria, pressing against Will's hold on his neck and back into the unforgiving tempo of his hips like he couldn't get enough of either.

Will held him tighter, feeling Hannibal's Adam's apple bob against his forearm, and gave his body over to Hannibal until his movements flowed like waves. His own arousal ballooned with Hannibal's, like they were in the same skin, like soon they wouldn't be able to contain it and their shared pleasure would expand until it was the only thing left between the stones around and beneath them.

Will traced his fingers across Hannibal's stomach and down, through thick but neat hair to grasp his cock again. He felt more sure of himself this time, and not only because of the familiar angle, as he thumbed at the head and spread precome down Hannibal's length, jerking him in counterpoint to his thrusts and stringing Hannibal taut between two points of pleasure.

"Will," Hannibal said, turning his head slightly and grasping at his arm again, nearly frantic. Will loosened his arm, and Hannibal threaded their fingers together, his hand cradling Will's, palm to back. He strained his neck futilely, seeking something more. Will kissed at his ear and jaw, then bit at his neck, and Hannibal threw his head back as he came wet and hot over Will's fingers, shuddering violently.

Will pulled his arm from around Hannibal's neck, planting his hand on the ground as he surged forward, his thrusts rougher, harder. Hannibal's hand still lay over his, and Will felt him squeeze around his fingers as he clenched down, chasing his body's involuntary spasms around Will's cock with deliberate pressure, driving Will faster towards his own orgasm.

Will let go of Hannibal's neck. He did not taste blood, but almost wished he could. Still, he was sure there would be a bruise in the shape of his mouth there, and the thought of Hannibal wearing a mark of his own sent him careening towards completion, spilling deep inside Hannibal as he worked out his orgasm in harsh, stuttering thrusts.

Will wanted to stay there, buried inside Hannibal, for a moment longer, at least until he adapted to the brightness of the new light that seemed to burn in his chest, but Hannibal wouldn't have it, it seemed; he pulled away from Will only to turn, rear up on his knees, and grasp at Will like a man lost at sea. His mouth found Will's with deadly accuracy, biting at Will's lips and licking inside like he truly couldn't get enough of the taste of him. For all that the abrupt movement had set Will off-balance, he found it again in Hannibal's arms, holding him in turn and kissing back immediately.

They sobered themselves like that, rushed bites and kisses slowing until Will was panting against Hannibal's cheek, both of them slumped against each other as Hannibal pressed a few lingering kisses to Will's face — his brow, his temple, his chin. 

In the end, it was Hannibal who said, quiet and almost tired, "As much as I'd like to stay, I'm afraid someone will come looking for you and your friend sooner or later."

Will almost wanted to let them. He wanted someone to know this was what he had chosen, to prove that he would fight for it, now. Instead, he pulled back, relishing the slip of sweat-soaked skin against skin, and began setting his clothes to right, never quite taking his eyes off Hannibal. He lingered on the red, raw skin of Hannibal's knees as he stood, their clothes apparently not a barrier enough to protect him from stone. When Hannibal turned away, affording him a glimpse of Will's come slipping down his inner thigh, Will nearly froze, shaken by a half-frenzied desire to grab Hannibal's hips and holding him still while he licked it all away.

He pushed the desire down, rising to pull up his own pants and help Hannibal dress. He didn't know what waited for them outside the catacombs, what form their relationship would metamorphosize in the end, but he thought — hoped — there would be another opportunity, for that and for more. He couldn't think of it yet, couldn't yet contemplate the idea of new meals with Hannibal, of nights sitting at his side with nowhere else to go, of whether their lives would involve blood or fur or both. It was overwhelming, and he was already full to bursting with the newness of his own future.

Their coats were all but ruined, but they both wore them, stinking of sex and dust. Despite a hitch in his step telling of a seed of lingering pain, which Will was all but certain Hannibal relished, Hannibal stood before him with a confident smile befitting a man who knew he could get away with murder.

"Where to?" Will asked him, watching as Hannibal pinched out the light from the nearest candle.

"Florence, I think," Hannibal said, putting out more lights around them until it seemed there was only one path left out of the darkness. He gestured toward it, deeper into the catacombs. "I have some unfinished business, and many things I'd like to show you."

He walked through the lit passage, and Will followed him into the shadows.


End file.
